


The Manor

by vermicious_knid



Category: DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermicious_knid/pseuds/vermicious_knid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retired exotic dancer legend Bruce Wayne owns a legendary private strip club, renowned for it's delectable male dancers, no pants friday and the "unicorn special". Damien wants to grow up and be just like him.</p>
<p>Let the mischief begin!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So you think you can dance?

When he first saw him standing there in the doorway, Bruce almost wanted to laugh and turn him away right of the bat.

He was wearing a dorky sweater vest, starched white shirt underneath and khaki pants to match. His hair was gelled backwards, except for a ridiculous little curl escaping across his forehead. The kid practically smelled of Sunday school and grandmas homemade cookies and everything _wholesome._

The kid adjusted his square reading glasses before reaching out a hand over his desk, smiling like he had sunshine glowing out of his ass. He was waving a resume in his other hand, like the good little boyscout he was. Bruce just blinked first, unused to people actually breaking into his personal bubble, unafraid of the consequences. Then he shook the hand, swiftly snatching the resume.

“Hello sir, I am Clark Kent – applying for the job sir!” the kid stuttered, blushing like a debutant.

Bruce arched on jet black eyebrow.

“Really?….sit down.”Bruce muttered, and the kid complied happily, sitting down in the guest chair. Bruce huffed unhappily and picked up a pen to take down notes.

“Now…do you have any prior experience to exotic dancing?” he asked, doubting this very much.

Flicking through the resume quickly told him just what he imagined, that he should send this kid on his merry way and perhaps even call his mother if he knew he was up past his bedtime.

“Absolutely! I dance at the farm all the time!” Kent chimed, his face beaming. Bruce grip on his fountain pen tightened marginally and his mouth went into a thin line, giving mr. kent a withering glare that could probably shrink any man’s balls from watermelon to a size near non existent. Kent gulped, then laughed a bit nervously.

“I mean, I do a lot of acrobatics in my free time – there’s loads of space for it. And uhm, I’ve practiced some around the pole sir, and I think I’m quite adequate for the job.”

Bruce leaned back in his plush high chair and gave the boy a slow once over, glowering all the while.

“Yes, well…let’s test just how adequate shall we? Get up Mr. Kent and follow me please.”

Clark nodded, bobble-head like, and did as he was told. He followed Bruce out into the main hall, where the big stage was located.

It was an impressive sight,a no expenses spared kind of place. The stage was divided into two parts, one on ground level and one for the strip trapeze act, which was located higher up – the roof was shaped like a dome and immensely huge – it almost resembled a circus tent. While Clark was busy being awed by the place, Bruce silently went over to the sound system and started playing lady gaga. By the sound of the music, Clark jumped and turned around and for the first time he looked truly nervous.

Neither noticed that they were slowly gaining an audience. Dick, Wally and Barbara had been playing poker backstage with junk food (not strip poker, much to wally’s dismay) and barbara had just won all of dick’s blue skittles when they heard the music and came out to see what was going on.

“What the eff? Is the boss man taking on new recruits? He never told ME!” Wally whined into Barbara’s ear, and she smacked him over the head politely.

“That’s because nobody should ever tell _you_ anything considering what you get up to around this place.”

She muttered, but handed him her winning of skittles because she felt bad for hitting him. Dick glared at the exchange, wishing he hadn’t lost all of his precious skittles. Bruce narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. Which was no surprise, since he was pretty much the master at 50 shades of different ways to look incredibly pissed off. Then he smirked evilly, and Clark blinked at discovering that he actually knew how to do that.

“Dance.”

“What?”

“You heard me, show me these…”moves” as you call them, and we’ll see if you’re fitted for this place or not.” Bruce said, his tone full of snarky disbelief.

Clark narrowed his eyes, filling to the brim with determination. He took of his glasses slowly, then followed most of his clothes to reveal the most delicious looking, slim body that made Bruce really antsy for some reason. He removed his pants slowly, and Bruce realized that he had already started the show and his clothes weren’t even completely off yet. Well damn. Now clad in nothing but red (and tight tight tight) sequined boxers, Kent jumped up to the stage with a gracefulness that had everyone in the room shut up. But the real jawdropping thing was when he started dancing. For a split second, Bruce could swear that the kid was flying, the way he was jumping from pole to pole like that. During the main chorus of the song, he almost never touched the ground. The sweat on him made his body glitter like a fucking diamond, and Bruce was suddenly very self consciously hiding his lower body behind a desk chair. Clarks dark hair had become ruffled during the performance, but the movements he made were never _cheap_.

Cough – _Wally West_ \- cough

He could dimly hear Wally hooting and Barbara cheering, and someone was throwing blue skittles like confetti onto the stage. Clark smoothed himself down the pole, gliding down while licking it so _professionally_ that Bruce almost mistook him for a pro. Almost. Clarks buttocks bounced and flexed, as he bent forward and back. Bruce had to close his eyes for a minute, this was too much.

“How is the new recruit working out for you sir?” came the smug voice in his ear then.

Alfred. Bouncer, butler and hired assassin extraordinaire. Once won the goldmedal in the hide and seek championship of 1989.

They never found the bodies.

Still closing his eyes, Bruce muttered back “Hire him, and then get him out of here.”

“Sir?” Alfred asked in confusion, then looked down. Then he smiled knowingly.

"Right away sir." he demurred, discreetly tossing him a napkin.

 

 


	2. Friday part. 1

Friday.

 

**5:10 pm.**

Besides Bruce or Alfred, Barbara was the only person trusted with a pair of keys to the manor. Being the bartender she needed to be a bit earlier than everyone else, set up the bar and fill up on the ice behind the counter. But besides that, she was extremely level headed – well, most of the time. Also the only person who didn’t give Bruce an ulcer, so it was usually her who opened and closed the place if Alfred was busy elsewhere.

They all figured it was a ginger/redhead thing, the way Barbara could always tell what the west brothers were up to. The same way she could just know that Grayson kept an emergency hair comb even in his glitzy speedos, or that speedy kept a picture of his mom in his locker in the changing room. She knew the secrets, but she never ever told. She was almost always right about most things, kind of like an oracle.

**6 pm.**

Around this time the dancers would drop in and change into their “uniforms”, followed by a short rehearsal of the night’s show. Usually, Mr. Grayson is the first one to show up and mother everybody to behave their best, whatever that means – but in his own opinion he was the best of them all anyway. Which was why Wally became confused when he showed up at 6:20 and finding the locker room devoid of blue spandex and hair spray. He spotted his younger brother popping a zit in one of the make up mirrors and walked over.

“Hey brah, where’s big and blue?” His brother shrugged.

“Apparently he called in sick, something about a dandruff emergency.” He answered, while Wally opened his locker and looked for that leftover subway sandwich he had thought about all day. He gave it a polite sniff – only slightly stale. Between munches, with his mouth full of pepperoni and nam bread (half of it falling out) when he asked:

“Yeah, who’s taking his spot?”

Without answering, his brother only pointed to a lone figure sitting on one of the small benches in the room with nothing but a wrapped towel around his hips. Wally saw him and groaned like a petulant child.

“Oh, not _you_.”

None of them except Mr. Wayne knew this “question” guy by name, but they all grudgingly admitted he was damn good at his job. His dancing was raw, in a diamond in the rough kind of way. He also sort of babbled a lot of random calculations while he danced, which was perfect for whispering in women’s ears when he gave them lap dances. But it made all the ladies quietly sizzle and pay extra on their way out. After all, the important thing wasn't really what you whispered, but _how_ you whispered it. Oh yeah, and he also wore this strange blank mask – nobody knew how he stayed hydrated with that thing on.

Now his head was bent down towards a notepad in his hands, scribbling furiously. He cocked his head in Wally’s direction, and it chilled him to the bone like it always did. _Damn creepy guy._

“This place is a fire hazard.” He said, his voice ghostlike and eerily flat.

Speedy’s tanned hand emerged like an arrow from the showers, snapping in the questions direction.

“I hope that’s not another list you’re giving to the health inspector.” He bellowed, irritated.

Thanks to the alarming paranoia of the owner, the Manor was the most spotless, flawless night club in the city. But to Questions standards, apparently never enough.

“We’re all in grave danger. The pipes in that shower could explode at any given moment – ever got embedded metal into your eyes? ” 

Jason, who was a little more daredevil than most, walked by and snatched the notepad out of his hands. He flipped through it, smirked and then put it in his own locker and locked it. He wiggled his eyebrows at question and winked.

“You’ll get it back after the show, promise.”

**6.30 pm**

Fucking red light. Almost as red as those tight shorts…

Bruce blinked a few times before he hit the gas pedal like it was coated with pictures of Wally’s face. He almost never left the manor for anything, but he did have that day job of handling his family’s fortune. A bit of a chink in his schedule though, and his perfect broody mood became an unperfect ulcer festering hatred for all mankind. And to think that some people actually liked Fridays. They must be insane.

He glanced to the passenger seat, regretting doing so very much. Damions damn mother was getting another liposuction and had handed the kid over on him early. Which meant he had to drop him off at the Sunday night school again, as it was not preferable to bring him into the manor _ever_. After a freak accident where he had left the kid in the car to watch a movie while he edited some security footage at the club, the kid had sneaked past their bouncer, Diana. Which was pretty much impossible (and slightly impressive he had to grudgingly admit), the woman was a bloody amazon.

He had sneaked past reception too and had watched a great deal of the night’s performance, and ever since all he wanted to be when he grew up was an exotic dancer just like his old man. It would have been cute if the kid wasn’t so damn determined about it.

“ _Daaaaad_ why do I have to go to Sunday school on a Friday night?” he whined.

“There’s never a bad time to try and wrench the demon out of you.” Bruce muttered, massaging his temple.

He was remembering the incident at damions school at the show and tell last week. It had been like the ending of Little Miss Sunshine, but more like Little Mr. Chippendale and 20 weeks of private counseling.

God, his son was an incubus.

“But dad, you OWN a strip club –YOU were a stripper. Teach me to be like youuuu!” Damion stomped his feet around in the car and wailed.

**7.15 pm**

The Manor opened it’s doors for the evening a little before 7, but for a select number of VIP:s it was possible to arrive earlier for pre-dinner cocktails. The performers were currently behind the curtains, working out the dance rutines – mostly for the questions and the newbie's benefit who weren't regulars to the show.

The music was already on full blast, a mix of jazz and trendier nightclub tunes filled the air. Looking around, Barbara thought she had rarely seen it this packed with people before. All of the crème of the crop of Gotham seemed to have decided that this club was the only place they wanted to be tonight. She felt lucky that she didn’t have to work the bar all by herself.

Dinah flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder as she leaned against the black counter, cleaning a few glasses. She grinned lecherously as she looked over at Barbara.

“So, I heard Mr. Blue balls isn’t coming in tonight.” Barbara rolled her eyes as she measured up vodka for shot glasses.

“Yeah he called me in tears. Something about his hair cut three inches too short. Big baby. “ she said and snorted.

Dinah’s eyes widened and her grin got bigger. “Wait, he called you?” she asked and Barbara again rolled her eyes but for entirely different reasons. She took a few more orders as she continued talking.

“It’s not like that. He’s had my number for ages.” She said, shrugging. And it was true, they’d known each other since high school. Dinah then did some sort of keening sound, collapsing her shoulders and faked having a seizure as her head hit the counter. Barbara didn’t bat an eyelash at this behavior, since she knew her bartending friend was a bit of a loon. Although a few patrons jumped at the sound – which seemed to carry around the room like a sonar boom.

“OH MY GOD. You guys are NEVER going to do it are you – you’re just gonna let it burn slowly and _consume_ you until you’re both 89, when your genitals and your brains are too dried up to do anything about it anyway.” She accused, dismayed.

“Canary, get your head off the counter and stop reading Soap opera digest.” Dinah stood up and gave her a mock salute. 

“Yes Ma’m.”

**7.20 pm**

Damion sashayed down the avenue towards the only place he was going to be tonight – The Manor.

It was really easy to bullshit your dad if you happened to be as smart as him. And he totally was.

As he got to the entrance where a row of guests waited to be let in, he went right past them all and said hello to Diana. Her face lost it’s ball crushing expression and changed into one of motherly joy. What only Alfred knew was that Damion was sometimes in charge of the control room opposite the main stage of the dome, controlling the lights and special effects. He figured it was a good place to start as any in the stripper business.

**7.30 pm**

Bruce stormed in through the grand entrance, politely greeted a few of the more seasoned and well respected guests before heading to the bar. His approach did not go unnoticed, and along the way several people stopped him to say what great fans they were of “the batman”. That was a long time ago. He tried to smile and thank them, but it mostly just came out as static through the noise of the music.

When he got to the bar, Barbara was at his shoulder in an instant.

“The usual or something else?” she asked. But she already knew just by looking at his face set in stone like that.

“Both.”

She produced a tall glass of something green and slightly slimy that was definitely not on the menu, along with a regular glass of milk – laced with red bull. She watched him down both of them swiftly, wondering when the man really slept.

“We get a new one tonight.” He said suddenly, arctic blue eyes watching the crowd. Barbara nodded.

“Yeah, I know. Grayson called in sick –“ Bruce interrupted her with a slight wave of his hand, his eyes now towards the stage.

“No, I mean the kid I interviewed a few days ago. “ at this statement Barbara stopped pouring drinks and gave him a long, probing stare. Bruce hated when she knew when he had a crush/boner for someone. That fucking oracle bullshit had to stop. She raised her eyebrows at him dubiously.

“Kid? Bruce. I was here when he auditioned for you remember? We all saw, we all looked at those glistening pecs, those sensous lips. God, you just wanted to pluck your hand in those breeches and squeeze y’know? If that is what children look these days then I must be an old cripple.” Bruce looked down into one of his empty glasses, the broodiness whithin him reaching a terminal velocity.

“He’s young though. Maybe too young.” Barbara arched an eyebrow at him.

“That depends, too young for what exactly?” she asked, honey coating her voice. Bruce looked up from his glass so fast it would have given anyone else whiplash, the panic on his face apparent and obvious.

“Nothing.” He told her in his ordinary, bored voice. But it didn’t matter, because Barbara had already sniffed out what kind of dog was buried there. She smiled gently at him.

“Of course. Now scoot, I’ve got work to do Pinky and so do you.”

**8 pm.**

It was time.

The lights in the dome dimmed and the crowd around the tables and at the bar went quiet. The anticipation in the air was palpable.

Then-

After a short drum roll, the speakers suddenly flooded with the sound of the CSI Miami intro. Lights around the stage flickered in time with the music, a spotlight zooming on a lone figure standing in silhouette in front of a microphone on stage. The women in the crowd went wild, as they already knew who this redheaded man was. When the mist cleared and the lights went brighter, the figure finally emerged.

Wally was dressed from head to toe in a fine pinstriped suit, but no shirt underneath the coat, which revealed a fit torso and a pack of shiny muscles, the pants worn low on his slim hips. He wore large dark sunglasses, his head bent down. He cocked his head to the audience, and it went very quiet.

“Well I guess _we’ve_ ….got a fine line up _tonight_. “ he murmured silkily, absinth green eyes peering over his glasses towards the crowd, eyebrows wiggling.

An almost inhuman burst of female squeals erupted. Wally laughed cockily, smiled to himself and swaggered across the stage with the mike in hand.

“Glad to see so many of you could make it here tonight. Its beautiful. Perhaps you may be wondering where my marginally less good looking but just as amazing brother is? “ A good portion of the crowd screamed their agreement, asking where the hell he was with hooting and whistling.

“If I told ya he couldn’t be here tonight would you cry? Yeah, me too. Well as luck would have it, he’s here - oh yeah, he’s backstage preparing something quite delicious for you ladies to bite on later tonight.” Several glasses were dropped and a woman fainted. A lot of whistles followed. Wally sniggered. His eyes got a glint of something almost of a serpentine suaveness.

Bruce started sweating, he had seen that look before. It never boded well.

“Maybe I don't need to ask but… are there any naughty gals here tonight?”

As if on cue, five pairs of panties where hurled onto the stage and everyone went wild. Without removing his eyes from the crowd, Wally picked one of them up and put them in his pocket like he did this everyday. Just like he knew that Question would be there to pick the rest of them up and analyze them by color. _That dude played in a league of kinky that went even beyond him._

“We have ah, secret word for you naughty ladies, that’ll grant you anything. We can’t say it to you, sadly. Our boss man is a strict person, why I think I hear him cracking his knuckles right now.” He said and chuckled a bit nervously.

“However, maybe this will give you a BIG hint!” He exclaimed suddenly and ripped off his pants. Everyone gasped. In place of underwear, Wally was wearing a sock puppet to cover his junk. A sock puppet in the shape of a unicorn. People started chuckling, gasping and screaming as he wiggled his hips to make it dance. Bruce’s knuckles were shaking by his sides by how hard he was clenching them.

He smiled.

Bruce was gonna kill him.

_Oh no, I’m gonna do more than kill him. I’ll give him a private tour of the nightmares that will forever follow him when I’m through punching his dick._


End file.
